


Memory From Your Lonesome Past

by ephemeraltea (temporarily_obsessed)



Series: Tin Roofs [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporarily_obsessed/pseuds/ephemeraltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t keep Batman quiet, but it does anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory From Your Lonesome Past

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the lyrics of Norah Jones’ song "Cold Cold Heart".

To call Gotham a city of thieves is not only an overwhelming understatement, it’s also among the least of its troubles. Though the thieves are innumerable- pickpockets, tire jackers, corporate skimmers, muggers, racketeers- there are worse crimes committed frequently in Batman’s city. Rape. Murder. Drug trafficking. Kidnapping. Bombing. Political corruption. Gang wars. To be honest, petty thieves are low on the vigilante’s list.

That being said. Occasionally straightforward thievery was a pleasant distraction. A reprieve, if you will, sometimes wrapped in leather and claws and flirtation.

“Nightwing warned me about you and her,” Robin says casually, but there’s a smile working at her mouth. “Said something about learning how to not eavesdrop because I would be scarred for life?”

“Robin,” Batman growls. Robin flaps a hand at him, still poorly concealing her smirk.

“Right, right, right. I’ll comm you if I see anything suspicious, okay, Batman?”

He nods and she’s gone. He advances silently towards the thief, who is still standing in the dark edges of the room. Once he gets close enough (which is actually rather far away, considering), however, Batman stops, because- that isn’t Selina. Selina isn’t that tiny and thin.

He can tell, too, the exact moment whoever it is- a small pre-teen or adolescent kid, it seems- notices him. The kid stiffens and turns to look at Batman.

“Oh,” the kid gasps rather quietly. “Well.”

Young. Very young- Batman would wager a guess at twelve, though in the suit and goggles it’s he gives himself two year leeway gap. Probably male. The suit bears a shocking resemblance to Catwoman’s, with the head covering and leather, though the goggles have green lenses rather than amber. So perhaps the child is a copy-cat burglar, or-

“Oh, kitten, you didn’t trip the alarm, did you?” And that is most certainly Catwoman. Talking to the kid.

“Of course I didn’t,” the boy says, and he sounds absolutely affronted. Definitely male, Batman decides. “I think he’s looking for you.”

“Of course he is,” Catwoman purrs, turning to look at Batman. Despite the sheer oddity of the situation, he feels a mild thrill chase up his spine. “Go home, Stray. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Batman is ready to question that and make the boy stay, but the kid slips into the shadows (better than Robin, even, which both intrigues and worries the big bat) and Catwoman touches his shoulder.

“I know you know who I am, Batman. My identity. But I will ask you to leave him alone.”

“Is he yours?” he finds himself asking quietly. Selina- because that’s who she’s asking this favor as, not the cat burglar- smiles.

“He is now.”

* * *

Maybe Batman isn’t sure why he doesn’t try to uncover the boy’s identity. He knows he could, even if he’s staying with her outside of legal measures, and even if he wasn’t sure he could, Batman would try anyway. No, it’s not for lack of ability.

But perhaps Bruce understands that whatever Selina and her boy have, right now it’s fragile. He’s not Selina’s son, Bruce is certain of that, at least not biologically. He could be her nephew, or the child of someone she knew, but Bruce thinks it’s more likely she found him and took him in like one of her many cats.

(Like he found Dick and Steph.)

So maybe it’s out of respect for that building bond that he leaves the search for a later date.

* * *

It’s a while before Batman speaks to Stray one-on-one. Nearly a year from that first, brief encounter, in fact. He knows Robin has spoken- bantered- with the young thief frequently enough, but it’s rarely something report-worthy. Nightwing spoke to him once, made him relinquish a first-edition book worth less than it should be.

Still. Not enough knowledge to suit the Batman. He waits for a chance.

It comes on a calm night, after a gang war was brutally and unexpectedly resolved, and frankly it’s going to get tense again soon, but this is a reprieve all sane people in Gotham take happily. Batman finds Stray sitting on a rooftop; it’s not a business building or a tall spire, just an apartment building that’s maybe a little taller and more beaten-up than it should be. He knows Stray senses him there, by the coiling of his shoulders, but they both stay silent for several minutes.

“You don’t have to steal.”

He thinks they’re both surprised when Stray scoffs.

“Sorry. It’s just…” The boy shrugs. “Maybe I don’t have to. Anymore. But it’s better when I do.”

There’s much about that statement that Batman yearns to untangle and decipher, but he restrains himself and only asks, “How is it better?”

He shrugs again. Stray isn’t even looking at the vigilante (hasn’t once since he landed on the roof), but instead seems to be inspecting the streets below. “It’s… different. Better. New memories, maybe.”

That seems like a kettle of issues and psychology Batman really isn’t willing or qualified to get into, so he changes tack.

“‘Anymore’?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. Anymore. I mean, it’s not like I only get to stay with her as long as I’m stealing. I don’t think. It’s never come up, actually,” and the kid seems to ponder this. “I mean, I guess you know that I lived on the streets, right?”

There’s a silence, and Batman doesn’t say anything, but waits. Stray goes on.

“My parents aren’t here, but that’s not exactly unusual in Gotham- and the system. Well. It sucks. I left, which also isn’t that unusual here. You know that. I bet you even have graphs of statistics. So I lived here,” he says, and gestures to the grimy streets below. Batman isn’t sure if he means this area in particular or just the general idea of the streets. “And there’s only so much you can do to make money when you’re that young and have nobody.”

Here, too, Batman isn’t ignorant. He does, actually, have those graphs, and he also knows the options for kids. Gang, drug dealing, theft, prostitution. None of them are exactly pretty. He’s beginning to wonder why Stray is so easily telling him all this.

“I guess I was lucky, though. I mean- I was kind of invisible, you know? It worked for me. I picked pockets, mostly. It could’ve been a lot worse for me.” The kid looks back at him for the first time. He’s still wearing his goggles. “It still could. I left- I left some problems behind, when I ran away. Someday I’ll probably have to go back to them, but I can’t. Not yet. So.”

There’s another pause. Stray swallows.

“So if you not look me up… that would be really good. I need to not go back. I know you can keep a secret, okay, but once people know stuff, things change. You make a list, and even if no one sees it, it changes things. I know that. I bet you do, too. And Selina’s- she keeps me safe.”

Batman wants to ask how keeping a child in a life of crime and vigilante-baiting is safe- he’s about to ask, even, but:

“Safer, I guess,” Stray adds with a small laugh. It sounds a little bitter. “More of a life than I had even when my parents were. Were here.”

It shouldn’t keep Batman quiet, but it does anyway.

They don’t say anything after that, and eventually Batman slips into the night. They don’t mention the conversation the next time they run into each other, or the time after that, and it becomes par for the course to just pretend it never happened. But Bruce doesn’t look up the kid. Even though he could.

* * *

“This is Tim Kyle,” Gail Francis introduces the slender, dark-haired teen to Bruce. The young man offers his hand timidly to the billionaire.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he says quietly. “Ms. Francis mentioned that you might have a tutoring job for me?”

“Yes,” Bruce booms a little, and it sounds very loud indeed after Tim’s soft tone. “My ward, Jason, he missed a few years of school- lived a little rough, you know, ha ha.”

“I know something about that,” Tim replies. “How many years did he miss?”

“Five,” Bruce answers. “But he’s smart, I guess! He’s doing pretty well catching himself up!”

“I have no doubt about that, Mr. Wayne,” he smiles a little crookedly. “But catching yourself up is hard. Sometimes you don’t know where you need to be. I can help.”

Bruce is on the cusp of saying _I bet you can_ in a condescending tone when the counselor breaks in.

“Tim would know,” she titters pleasantly. “He lost one year himself, and still got the scholarship.”

“Oh?” Bruce eyes the kid and gives a sugared smile. It hurts his teeth. “What did you do to miss a year? Must have been some good parties, ha ha.”

Tim smiles blandly; it’s a different smile from before. “Not at all. I think I prefer tutoring.”

Bruce tries to tell himself that he won’t be scouring this kid’s file, looking for inconsistencies or any kind of record before Wednesday. He knows it’s a lie.

(He wasn’t counting on the Ivy’s breakout. It set his plans back and Wednesday came without Batman inspecting Timothy Kyle’s records. In fact, it would be several weeks before that hit the top of his pile.)


End file.
